The sanctuary's central chamber glowed with an ethereal blue light as Dr. Eleanor Whitaker hunched over the two fragments of Excalibur, her face illuminated by their pulsing energy. The battle-worn stone altar beneath them was stained with centuries of ritual use, now serving as an impromptu workbench for what might be the most dangerous archaeological study in human history.
"Fascinating," she murmured, adjusting her glasses as she carefully rotated the newly discovered fragment. "The crystalline structure is identical to our original piece, but the energy signature is... complementary somehow. Like two halves of a conversation."
Captain Alastair Reid watched from a respectful distance, his body still aching from the battle they'd barely survived. Seraphine's forces had retreated, but the cost had been high—wounded soldiers lined the sanctuary's periphery where Lance Corporal Singh moved among them with tireless efficiency, applying bandages and murmuring words of comfort in multiple languages.
"Please tell me you're not about to suggest we smash those two pieces together to see what happens," Reid said dryly. "I've had enough explosions for one day."
Whitaker looked up, her eyes bright with the particular fervor that only ancient apocalypse-averting artifacts could inspire. "Not smash, Captain. Unite. These fragments were clearly designed to function as a single unit. The patterns along the edge here—" she traced a finger just above the jagged metal, "—they're like puzzle pieces. They want to be whole."
"Wonderful," Reid muttered. "Sentient sword fragments with separation anxiety. Just what this mission needed."
Despite his sarcasm, Reid couldn't deny the pull he felt toward the artifacts. There was something mesmerizing about their glow, something that whispered of power beyond human comprehension. He'd seen enough in Aeltheria to know that such power always came with a price.
"What happens if we do unite them?" he asked, his voice dropping to match the hushed atmosphere of the sanctuary.
Whitaker's expression grew serious. "Based on the inscriptions we've found and the energy readings I'm getting, uniting the fragments would amplify their power exponentially. It could give us a weapon capable of severing Seraphine's connection to the corrupted ley-lines permanently."
"I'm sensing a 'but' coming."
"But," Whitaker confirmed, "it might also destabilize the ley-lines further if not handled properly. The resulting energy surge could potentially create ripples across both worlds, weakening the barriers that keep The Weaver contained."
Reid ran a hand through his dust-streaked hair. "So our options are: potentially stop Seraphine but maybe wake up an interdimensional horror, or definitely let Seraphine continue corrupting both worlds while The Weaver stirs anyway. Lovely choices."
From the far side of the chamber came a soft voice, barely audible above the ambient hum of the sanctuary's ley-lines. "I've held it before."
Reid turned to see Maeve sitting up on her makeshift bed, her face pale but her eyes clearer than they had been since channeling the fragment's power. Singh was beside her immediately, checking her pulse with professional concern.
"You should be resting," Singh admonished gently.
Maeve shook her head, pushing herself to a sitting position with visible effort. "The fragments... they're calling to me. Reminding me."
Reid approached cautiously, kneeling to meet her at eye level. "Reminding you of what, Maeve?"
"The rebellion," she said, her gaze distant as if seeing through time itself. "I wasn't just a participant. I led them—the druids who opposed The Eternal Court. We wielded Excalibur together, channeling its power through a circle of seven."
Whitaker was beside them in an instant, notebook already in hand. "A ritual circle? Using ley-line energy to amplify Excalibur's power?"
Maeve nodded slowly. "We nearly succeeded in severing Seraphine's connection to the corrupted ley-lines. But there was a traitor among us. Someone close to me... someone I trusted with my heart as well as my life."
Her voice broke on the last words, and Reid saw genuine pain flash across her face—not the confusion of lost memories, but the sharp sting of betrayal remembered.
"Do you recall who betrayed you?" Reid asked gently.
Maeve shook her head, frustration evident in her expression. "The memories come in fragments, like reflections in a shattered mirror. I see faces, hear voices, but names slip away like water through my fingers." She looked up at Reid, her eyes suddenly intense. "But I remember the ritual. I remember how to unite the fragments safely."
Whitaker could barely contain her excitement. "That's extraordinary! The knowledge we need, preserved in your memory despite Seraphine's attempts to erase it."
"Not erased," Maeve corrected. "Scattered. Hidden from myself." Her fingers traced patterns in the air, mirroring the ley-line markings on her skin. "But the fragments are calling those memories back, piece by piece."
Across the sanctuary, Singh had finished tending to the last of the wounded and approached their small circle, wiping blood-stained hands on a cloth. "How are you feeling?" she asked Maeve, her medical training evident in the way she assessed the druidess's condition with a quick glance.
"Like I've been trampled by a herd of six-legged elkhorn," Maeve replied with unexpected humor. "But my mind is clearer than it has been in... centuries, I think."
Singh smiled. "Good. We need you at your best if we're going to get through this." She turned to Reid. "The wounded are stable, but we should move them back to Avalon as soon as possible. Better medical supplies there, and the ley-lines are more stable."
Reid nodded, already calculating logistics. "How many can walk? How many will need to be carried?"
As Singh provided the details, Reid found his thoughts drifting to Crowe and his increasingly problematic orders. The Prime Minister's latest communication had been explicit: secure magical artifacts of strategic value and return to London immediately. No mention of stabilizing ley-lines or protecting Aeltheria from Seraphine's corruption. Just acquisition and retreat.
"Captain?" Whitaker's voice pulled him back to the present. "You seem troubled."
"Just contemplating the joys of international politics during an interdimensional crisis," Reid replied dryly. "Crowe wants us to pack up these fragments and head home, leaving Seraphine and The Weaver to sort themselves out."
"That would be catastrophic," Whitaker said, alarmed. "The fragments need to be united here, where the ley-lines are strongest. Taking them back to Earth in their current state could destabilize both worlds further."
"I'm aware," Reid said grimly. "Which means I may need to disobey a direct order from the Prime Minister himself. Not exactly career-enhancing."
Singh looked up from checking Maeve's pulse. "With respect, sir, I think your career prospects became complicated the moment you started taking tactical advice from elves and wielding magical artifacts against undead armies."
Reid couldn't help but laugh. "Fair point, Corporal. I suppose 'led successful campaign against interdimensional sorceress' isn't standard CV material anyway."
As the tension broke momentarily, Reid made his decision. "We return to Avalon with the fragments and the wounded. Whitaker, work with Maeve to prepare for this ritual. Singh, continue building bridges with the druids we've rescued—we'll need their help. I'll deal with Crowe when the time comes."
Maeve studied him with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. "You would defy your leader to protect Aeltheria? A world not your own?"
"Two worlds," Reid corrected. "And yes. Some things matter more than orders." He glanced at the fragments of Excalibur, still pulsing with ancient power on the altar. "Some choices transcend politics."
As they prepared to depart the sanctuary, Whitaker carefully wrapped each fragment in protective cloth embroidered with ley-line patterns that the druids assured her would contain their energy during transport. The pieces seemed to resist separation, the air between them shimmering like heat haze over desert sand.
"They want to be whole," Whitaker explained, securing the wrapped fragments in her pack. "The longer they remain apart, the more unstable they become."
"Wonderful," Reid muttered. "Impatient magical artifacts. Just what we need."
The journey back to Avalon was mercifully uneventful, though Reid couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched. Seraphine might have retreated, but he doubted she had given up. The fragments were too valuable, their power too great for her to simply abandon her pursuit.
As Forward Base Avalon came into view, its blue-white ley-lines pulsing beneath the earth like luminescent veins, Whitaker fell into step beside Reid.
"We need to begin preparations immediately," she said without preamble. "The ritual Maeve described requires significant preparation—a specific alignment of ley-lines, seven druids to channel the energy, and precise timing with Aeltheria's twin moons."
"How long?" Reid asked.
"Three days, minimum. And Captain—" Whitaker's expression was uncharacteristically grave, "—once we begin, there's no stopping. The energy released will either stabilize the ley-lines across both worlds or..."
"Or awaken The Weaver entirely," Reid finished. "No pressure, then."
As they passed through Avalon's gates, greeted by relieved soldiers and curious druids, Reid felt the weight of command settle more heavily on his shoulders. The fragments of Excalibur represented their best hope against Seraphine and The Weaver, but also their greatest risk. United, they might save both worlds—or destroy them.
Just another day in Task Force Valkyrie.